


i’m baby

by Bellelaide



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-05 18:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18371618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellelaide/pseuds/Bellelaide
Summary: “You are totally Eric Dier’s baby, Winksy,” Dele said, voice bored and uninterested. “Sorry. You just are.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello!! basically, a lovely anon on tumblr sent me some prompts and they got my brain from point A to point B (this fic). I’ll still fulfil those prompts, but here’s this until then - I hope you enjoy it! I’m splitting it for ease, but chapter 2 won’t be far behind. 
> 
> This is fully dedicated to @heck on tumblr who, like the genius she is, was the first person to point out that Harry Winks is the personification of the i’m baby meme (and I’ve been obsessed with the idea ever since). It’s true and you should say it.

Harry Winks couldn’t quite figure out why everyone babied him so much. 

As far as he was concerned, he was your standard, bang average bloke. He was a bit short, sure, but 5’10 wasn’t anything crazy. He was of average height for a man, actually, usually even a bit taller than the randoms he passed in the street. He couldn’t help that he was an athlete and other athletes tended towards the tall side, making him look smaller in comparison. Height aside, there was nothing remotely cutesy about Harry Winks. He had a bit of a receding hairline. He did shits that smelled so bad people gagged when they went in the bathroom after him. He picked his nose and had thighs so hairy he needed to do a treatment on the shower drain every so often. He hated the sound of kids crying, he hated the colour pink and anything fluffy. He despised cats and couldn’t abide pet names - babe, honey, darling, sweetheart, button - he hated them all. He had thick veiny hands and drove a flash car that he frequently swore like a sailor inside of. He listened almost exclusively to rap music and had quick, messy wanks into hankies thinking about the way tits looked when they bounced. 

But for some reason, completely unbeknownst to Harry, the entire fucking world wanted to baby him. 

Take that fucking podcast, The Fighting Cock. They regularly referred to him as a twink, a cum bucket, a soft little baby who loved cock. He did like cock, fair enough, but he wasn’t twinky about it. He wasn’t particularly petite and he didn’t carry himself like he wanted to be laid out and fucked by a big man. He just... existed. 

Everyone at Spurs was the same way. For a while it’d been a habit of his teammates to man handle Harry a bit, to ruffle his hair, to pinch his cheeks. Harry had gone berserk in the changing rooms one day and shouted that the next person to put hands on him without his consent would receive a swift uppercut, no second chances. Everyone apologised and swore not to do it again and all the rest of it, which somewhat dealt with his irritation. Eric Dier had walked past with a smirk and squeezed the back of Harry’s neck. Harry only pushed into his hand and blushed a bit because he knew if he hit Eric he’d get floored. 

Then there was the fact that every time he got into a fight on the pitch, people laughed at him. He would get tagged in memes comparing him to a baby tiger attempting to roar, pictures of cartoon animals in bunny costumes with a cross expression on their face, pictures of him shouting with love heart emojis all around him. He just didn’t GET it. 

He wasn’t a baby. Harry Winks was not a fucking baby. 

—

Harry was walking into work on an inauspicious April Thursday morning with a spring in his step, reminiscing on the Spurs’s first match at their new stadium.

They’d won, couple of amazing goals by Sonny and Christian that had saved them from the embarrassment of christening their new home with a loss. Harry had been buzzing, jumping around the changing room and slapping the lads on the back, waving his arms and being generally quite lairy. Eric Dier came wandering in from where he’d been observing and congratulated the boys, did some kind of convoluted handshake with Dele. He came to Harry last, how he always did, and pulled him into a big bear hug. That was nice because Harry suddenly realised he was quite tired, and he got to sit down in his little cubby and tuck his knees up against Eric’s side and just rub the backs of his fingers against his lips for a bit whilst Poch debriefed them all. It was good to have a friend like Eric, Harry thought. 

Harry pulled his thoughts back to the present and meandered into the changing rooms, nodding and smiling at Toby and Jan who were having a quiet conversation in the corner. He made his way to his spot and toed off his trainers, unlacing his football boots and sliding his feet in. The click of the studs against the floor was probably his favourite sound in the world, he thought, tapping his toes against the linoleum therapeutically. There were another 15 minutes yet before he was due on the pitch and so he took out his phone, scrolling through Instagram for a bit. He liked a couple of photos of some fit birds from Love Island, zooming in on one in particular and wondering if she’d photoshopped it or if her hips were really that round. A text from Eric came in as he was mid-zoom, and Harry clicked on it absentmindedly, chewing at his thumbnail. 

Dier: just woke up lol you at the grounds today ? 

Harry looked at the time at the top of his phone - it was 8:50, and there was no reason Eric should still be in bed at that time of the day. Harry tutted out loud and his thumbs did a dance over the screen whilst he thought of a response. 

Harry: obviously ahah you are milking this injury should be up and about 

He locked his phone as soon as the text sent, zipping it up in his training bag with his watch and car keys and getting up, boots clattering as he followed the boys out into the brisk April morning. 

It was always exhilarating to be out on the grass, ball at his feet, commands in his ears. He did a particularly good tackle against Danny that made him grin from ear to ear and he even scored one in the top bins that left him racing around the pitch shouting ‘WHO ARE YA!’ at the top of his lungs. He wrestled Trippier to the ground over the last bib (Harry wanted the bib, he wanted to be on Kane’s team) and won a press up competition against Son which he was quite proud of. 

“Doesn’t fucking count when it’s against Sonny, though,” Dele said on their way to lunch, shrugging one shoulder. “He’s shit at press ups.” 

“Fuck off. He’s just as fit as everyone else - definitely more built than you are.” 

Dele scoffed, holding open the door for Harry to go inside. “Alright then. Team babies have to look out for each other, I suppose - ow!” 

Harry shot Dele a warning glare, bringing his elbow back to his own side. “Piss off. You know I hate when you call me that.” 

Dele rolled his eyes and picked up a lunch tray, scanning the food the kitchen had prepared. “How’s Diet?” 

Harry put an apple on his tray and peered closely at a tuna salad. “How should I know?” He murmured, deciding against fish. “He’s your best mate.” 

“Don’t speak to him every day though, do I?” 

Harry picked up a chicken wrap and a bottle of water. “Neither do I,” he said. “Haven’t even got my phone on me.”

“You haven’t texted him today then?” 

Harry took a seat at a table close by, not looking at Dele as he sat down opposite. “No, I have.” 

“Oh. How is he?” 

“Got a lie in apparently. Think he’s probably here for physio now.” 

“Ah.” 

“That tuna salad any good? Think I should’ve got that,” Harry said, wincing at his wrap. 

“Nice goal this morning, Winksy,” Kane interrupted, sliding his own tray alongside Harry’s and sitting down heavily. “Coming for my golden boot?” 

The conversation descended into easy banter, Skippy and Erik joining their table too. Harry was laughing with a wide open mouth full of chicken when he felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked around to see Eric standing there, looking down at him with raised eyebrows and an amused expression. 

“Alright, fellas?” 

Harry choked on his mouthful of food, suddenly a bit embarrassed by the less than sophisticated manner he’d been behaving in. 

“How’s physio?” Dele asked, smirking up at Eric from the other side of the table. “You ready to stop pretending you’re injured and come back to work, or you planning to milk it a bit longer?” 

“Definitely going to milk it,” Eric grinned, crossing his arms across his chest. “Fucking love watching you lot have fun while big Brenda massages my groin.” 

They all laughed and groaned, even Kane. “Get better soon, alright? Missing you on the team,” he offered, nodding up at Eric. 

“I’m on it. I’m gonna grab a bite now, but I’ll catch you later boys, yeah?” Eric took a step backwards and looked down at Harry, his right eye closing in a quick wink. “Harry.” 

He was off, Harry was bright red, and the conversation resumed like nothing had even happened. 

** 

The remainder of their day passed in a quick succession of drills and set pieces. When they all clicked into the locker rooms at 5pm Dele cleared his throat and announced that a night out was on the cards in celebration of their first win in the new stadium. Everyone was on board, the prospect of a few drinks in the city exciting and very much welcome after a tough few weeks. 

“Tomorrow, then?” Dele announced, and it was agreed - Friday night on the tiles it would be. 

— 

Harry looked himself over in his bedroom mirror and grinned. He looked fit, his biceps accentuated by a tight white polo, his hips tucked snuggly into a pair of grey dress trousers. He smoothed his fingers over the swoop of his hair and turned around for a view of his arse. 

That done, Harry went down to the kitchen to finish off a beer and wait for Eric to pick him up. Eric had insisted he wasn’t drinking, something to do with antibiotics and alcohol even though he hadn’t taken an antibiotic for a solid two months. Everyone had called him a party pooper in the group chat but it’d died down as soon as some of them realised they had a designated driver and wouldn’t need to faff around with car services all night. Harry didn’t have to wait too long before he got a text from Dele saying ‘that’s us on the way’ with the dancing girl emoji. Harry turned off the kitchen lights, set the house alarm and waited in the foyer, only going outside when he saw Eric’s black Range Rover pulling up to the house. 

Harry approached the passenger seat and scowled. Dele was sat in the front whilst Kane and Trippier waited in the back, the middle seat between them like some sad condolence prize for the last pick up on the route. Harry wasn’t having it. 

“Let me sit there,” he whined, pulling open the door and glaring at Dele. “I want to sit there.” 

“Fuck off,” Dele laughed, trying and failing to pull the door out of Harry’s grasp. “I was in first. Get in the middle, Winksy.” 

Harry turned his eyes on Eric, a pleading look that he’d learned when he was a kid and decided puss in boots out of Shrek was the master of his art. Everyone groaned when he did that, and Harry frowned at them before looking back at Eric the same way. “Eric, tell him,” Harry begged, pouting a bit. “I get carsick in the back, don’t I?” 

Eric sighed, but he was smiling. “Del, stop being selfish and get in the back, will you?” 

Dele gasped indignantly. “Selfish? Are you fucking - fine. FINE. Here you go, your majesty,” he bitched, making a show of unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car. “What baby wants baby gets.”

Harry smiled delightedly and decided to let that one slide. 

** 

The club was busy and the music was good, and Harry was on the wrong side of tipsy not even an hour in. 

Toby kept buying shots and Harry kept taking them, shouting UP THE SPURS and knocking them back with such vigour it was a wonder he hadn’t gotten whiplash. Harry had a long in depth conversation with Hugo about captaincy and what it means to wear the armband, and he was sure he said some humiliating things about his own desire to be captain but the alcohol he’d consumed was preventing him from cringing too hard. Dele pulled him onto the dance floor and they moved around each other for a while, sweaty and grinning like mad as they executed a two step to devastating effect. It didn’t take long for some peng birds to approach and start whispering in their ears about what they were doing after the club. Harry let his hand find its way to the small of one girl’s back and he brushed his lips against her ear as he spoke, telling her he had his own place, she was more than welcome, she could definitely bring a friend. 

Dele and Harry brought the girls up into their section, pouring them drinks from the bottle of vodka on the table and making inane small talk about the offices they worked in. Harry’s girl - Becca? - told him she really wanted to be a full time Instagram influencer, and Harry laughed until he realised she was serious. 

“That’s cool,” he shouted in her ear. “Good pension plan on that.” 

Becca didn’t laugh and things got a bit awkward all of a sudden. Harry looked over at Dele, who’s girl was giggling sexily with a hand on his bicep. His eyes swivelled to where Eric, Jan and Kane were having a nice conversation at one side of the booth. Eric was sat back with his ankle bent on his left thigh, laughing easily at something Jan was saying and holding what looked like a bottle of water. Harry frowned and looked away, back to Becca. 

“I’m uh - gonna go to the bathroom,” he said over the thump of the music. “Be right back. Help yourself to booze!” 

Becca smiled tightly at him and Harry slunk out of the booth, exhaling a breath. Birds were hard bloody work and Harry had a tough enough day job. He slipped through the bodies swaying on the dance floor and pushed open the bathroom door, taking a spot at the urinals and unzipping his trousers right on the second attempt. He was attempting to aim his piss right down the centre hole on the drain with military precision when someone shouted “It’s Harry Twinks!” 

Harry’s whole body went stiff. He hastily finished peeing and stuffed his dick back into his trousers, spinning around to see a group of lads about his own age staring at him. 

“Harry Twinks!” 

Harry forced his face into something resembling a smile and moved towards the sinks, trying to wash his hands as fast as he could. 

“Isn’t it a bit past your bed time?” One of them jeered. 

“Fuck off,” Harry growled in the mirror, the alcohol telling him aggression was the best route. “I’m just out for a drink with my mates. Leave me alone.” 

“Who you telling to fuck off?” One of them countered, squaring his shoulders and stepping forward. Harry swallowed a gulp of air. 

“You. I’m not bothering anyone. Let me past.” 

“Might let you past if you give me your watch,” the guy said cockily. Harry could see the guy’s mates exchanging glances behind him. He could feel his own heart rate picking up. His mouth was going dry. 

“I don’t think - “ 

“Everything alright, lads?” 

Eric was standing in the doorway. Not for the first time in his life, Harry was instantly grateful for the sheer size of him, large and imposing and staring at these idiots with his eyebrows raised. Daring them to try it. 

The first guy’s friend mumbled something about them just leaving and dragged their mate out of the bathroom, past Eric without daring to look him in the eye. Harry glared at them as they left, feeling a lot more confident all of a sudden. 

“You better run!” He called after them, sticking up his middle finger. “Twats!” 

“Come back to the booth, please,” Eric said calmly, motioning with a hand for Harry to start walking. “Not a good idea going into bathrooms alone.” 

“I know that,” Harry grumbled, pushing past Eric and back out into the pulsing club. The crowds parted more easily on his return trip, and Harry knew it was because of the one man mountain behind him, but he pretended for a minute that it was all him. He pretended that he himself was physically impressive and people would move aside for him. He pretended he wasn’t the kind of bloke who’s nickname was Harry Twinks. 

Harry marched into the booth and followed Eric to his seat. Jan and Harry Kane were silent as Eric sat down, and when Winks clambered onto Eric’s lap Jan tacitly asked Harry to join him at the bar. Harry looked down at his hands whilst Eric placed one of his own gently on the small of Harry’s back, rubbing little circles there as he waited for Harry to speak. 

“They called me Harry Twinks,” Harry said in as quiet a voice as he could given the thumping music. “Why is the first thing people say about me always about me being a... a fucking princess? Why’s no one commenting on my fucking football skills? It isn’t fair!” 

Eric’s fingers found their way under Harry’s shirt, skin on skin. Harry liked that more than he’d ever admit. 

“Harry, the first thing people say when they see me is ‘there’s Dele Alli’s best mate!’ first bloody thing they would say when they saw Del for the longest time was ‘diver this, diving that’. We all get it for one thing or another. You’ve just got to learn to tune it out.” 

Harry sighed and tilted himself down so that his head was against Eric’s collar bone. He let his eyes flicker closed as he focussed solely on the patterns Eric was tracing on his skin. He could’ve dozed off, probably, but then Eric was tucking his shirt back into his trousers and saying “That girl’s waiting for you, Winksy. Don’t be rude.” 

Harry sat up slowly and rubbed at his eyes. Becca was indeed staring at him, her expression somewhat confused. Harry hopped up, gave himself a shake, and went off to do some chirpsing. 

** 

Somewhere between his third shot of tequila and the music transitioning from house to cheesy classics, Harry found himself on the table, blind drunk, screaming the words to Come On Eileen with more than one camera pointed at him. Next thing he knew the DJ was playing You Can Leave Your Hat On by Joe Cocker, Harry was trying to shimmy out of his shirt, and a pair of warm hands were yanking him down and out of the club. 

— 

Harry woke up with a rolling stomach and a pounding head. The room he was in was dark but he knew instantly that it was Eric’s guest room. He swung his legs out of bed - someone had removed his trousers, thank fuck - and wobbled out of bed, sure he was still a bit drunk and that his hangover would only increase throughout the day. 

Harry stumbled across the hall and into Eric’s bedroom. It was so dark that if he wasn’t familiar with the room he’d certainly have banged into some piece of furniture or other. He could just make out a dark mound in Eric’s big bed and he made his way towards it, taking off his shirt and dumping it on the floor. Harry stood at the side of the mattress and shook the lump under the sheets. 

“Eric?” he whispered, his voice croaky. “Eric.” 

The lump stirred and then lifted the duvet, signalling for him to get in. Harry slid into the heat of the bed, surrounded by Eric’s smell and warmth. He burrowed in as close as he could without being weird, not wanting to impose, but then a big arm reached out and pulled him all the way in, their chests pressed together, Harry’s toes finding their place between Eric’s thighs. 

“Why’d you bring me home?” Harry asked, his nose perilously close to Eric’s clavicle. One little nuzzle won’t hurt, he reasoned, breathing in the musky scent of Eric’s skin. 

“Wasted,” Eric murmured, his nails trailing Harry’s spine. “Trying to do a strip show.” 

“Was going to shag that bird.” 

“You couldn’t have got it up if Kylie Jenner was sucking your balls in a Spurs shirt.” 

Harry couldn’t argue with that - Eric probably had saved him from some kind of humiliation. He rubbed his nose against Eric’s chest another time for good measure and let his eyes flicker closed. He wasn’t sure, but he could’ve swore Eric kissed him on the head just before he fell into a dreamless sleep. 

** 

When he woke up again it was light in the room and Eric’s big fucking dogs were leaping all over him. Harry groaned into the pillows and shoved at the yellow one, his head banging even worse than earlier. 

“Dier!” He rasped, pulling the sheets over his head. “Get your wolves out of here!” 

Harry heard laughter and then felt the bed dipping beside him. “This is their house, Harry. Here, drink this.” 

Harry poked his head out of the covers. Eric had brought him a pint of water, some painkillers and a cup of tea, and Harry had never loved him more. 

“Where’s m’phone?” Harry asked after he’d downed the water. 

“Probably in the other room?” Eric supplied. Harry batted his eyelids at him and Eric rolled his. “You just wait there, don’t exert yourself.” 

Harry settled back happily against the pillows and sipped at his tea. Eric made a good brew for someone who’d grown up in Europe, he decided. The dogs were lying quietly at the foot of the bed now, and Harry watched them whilst he waited for Eric to come back with his phone. 

“Here you go,” Eric said, handing it to him and sitting down on the bed again. 

He had a bunch of Instagram notifications that he really didn’t want to look at, a text from his mum that could be answered later and a WhatsApp from Dele. Harry clicked on that first, groaning at the message. 

Dele: mate I took both those girls home your a fucking lightweight 

Harry put his tea down and replied.

Harry: jammy fucker. It’s dier’s fault he dragged me home 

Dele’s status came online, and then he was typing. 

Dele: shut up u wanted to go home with him 

Harry: hardly 

Dele: You was sat in the booth getting a back massage off him Becca was baffled 

Harry scowled at his phone. 

Harry: I had an itchy back 

Dele: you had your head on his chest mate 

Harry flung his phone at the other end of the bed and looked up at Eric, deciding Dele was an idiot and he didn’t care to speak to him. “Can I use your shower?” 

** 

Harry felt marginally better after his shower. Eric was downstairs cooking tomatoes and eggs and Harry took his time in the bathroom, playing with Eric’s creams and borrowing his fancy electric toothbrush. He pulled on a pair of Eric’s joggers, rolling them up at the ankles, and decided a shirt was not necessary. 

He wandered into the kitchen barefoot and squeezed himself between Eric and the cooker, inspecting the breakfast like he had any idea how to cook. Eric shoved him out the way gently, taking the pan off the heat and commenting only “You smell like my shampoo.” 

Harry sat down at the table and let Eric plate him up. On his first mouthful he exclaimed “This is so good I could suck your dick,” and Eric stared at his own plate with his eyebrows raised. 

After breakfast Harry followed Eric around like a lost puppy until he finally sat down on the sofa and put the footie on. Harry lay down beside him with his head in Eric’s lap and let him play with his hair for a while, quietly comfortable. When it started getting dark outside he gathered up his clothes and his phone and let Eric drive him home. He was vaguely horny and planned on having a nice wank before bed. 

Eric pulled up outside his house and Harry knew he wouldn’t drive away until he was inside and the door was closed. Harry was definitely lucky to have a friend like him. 

— 

“You cheated!” 

“Did not!” Harry squealed with delight, slapping his winning uno card in the middle of the table and beaming at Lucas. “I won fair and square!” 

“You’ve got the other cards up your sleeve, I saw you hide them!” 

“I do not!” 

Lucas jumped on Harry in a blur of purple training kit, wrestling him to the ground easily and grabbing at Harry’s sweatshirt for evidence of foul play. Harry yelped and wriggled helplessly, scrabbling against Lucas’s shoulders. Someone cleared their throat behind them and Lucas dropped Harry like he’d burned him, causing him to bump his head on the floor and let out a pained groan. 

“Cheers for that,” Harry whined, rubbing at the back of his head tenderly. 

The next thing he knew Eric was kneeling over him with his head cocked to one side. “Everything okay?” 

Harry sat up slowly. “No. Lucas accused me of cheating at UNO and then attacked me.” 

Eric held out a hand for Harry, tutting over at Lucas. “Is that true, Moura?” 

“No! He did cheat. He’s a cheater.” 

“Hmmm,” Eric mused as Harry wrapped his arms around Eric’s shoulder and pulled. Eric caught his thighs and hoisted him up. From his perch Harry could look down at Lucas menacingly. 

“No I am not. Eric, he hurt me. Assaulted me.” 

Lucas gasped indignantly, and as Eric broke into a spiel about playing nicely Harry stuck his tongue out and waggled it around. 

“You two are so annoying,” Lucas muttered, retreating from the room without a second glance. 

“Were you cheating?” Eric asked as soon as Lucas was gone. 

“Course I was. Wouldn’t win otherwise.” 

Eric laughed and sat down on the bench, handling Harry’s weight so that he was left straddling Eric comfortably. 

“How was training today?” 

Harry recounted the day’s work back to Eric, only semi aware of how his hands were resting on the top of Harry’s bum. Eric always seemed genuinely interested, was the thing, and Harry could talk the back legs off a donkey at the best of times, but when Eric was looking at him like that, all crinkley eyes and wide smile, it was hard not to want to tell him every detail down to what fruit he’d had with lunch. Halfway through a story about how the toilet was blocked when Harry tried to use it Eric reached out and swiped his thumb underneath Harry’s eye. Harry’s voice puttered out and Eric whispered “eyelash,” and Harry had to think about his granny so as not to pop a boner. 

Harry hardly even registered everyone else filtering into the changing rooms, and it wasn’t until Poch shouted “Dier! Put Winks down for two minutes and pay attention!” That he realised the room was full of first team members and he’d been sat blabbing on Eric’s lap. He hopped up and jogged across the room to his own area, hoping he wasn’t too red in the face. He saw Eric give the middle finger to Dele, and so when Dele caught his eye, he gave him the finger too. Solidarity. 

Poch briefed them on their next Champions League game fairly quickly. Harry was beyond excited for it - they really had a chance, there. The prem was long gone but the CL - it was within their grasp. They wanted it. If they worked hard, they could have it. 

Once Poch finished speaking they were pretty much free to leave. Harry pulled on his high tops and scrolled through his phone for a few minutes, thinking about dinner and the Champions League and the fact that he needed to pick up a new deodorant soon. It occurred to him that he could probably just steal one from Eric’s and save himself a trip, and he looked over at where Dele and Eric were deep in conversation at the other side of the room. 

Harry approached them with his hands in his pockets, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach when they fell silent at his presence. 

“Alright?” 

Dele looked at Eric, who smiled at Harry. “Yeah, love. How’s that bump on your head?” 

Harry felt at the back of his head and smiled back. “It’s fine. What you doing later?” 

“I’m gonna head off,” Dele interrupted suddenly, stepping backwards. “Catch you both tomorrow, yeah?” 

Eric nodded at him and then looked down at Harry. “I’m having someone over for dinner tonight,” he said softly, eyes scanning Harry’s face. “A friend of a friend.” 

“That’s nice of you. What’s his name?” 

“Her name’s Grace. She’s - it’s a date.” 

Eric was speaking softly, carefully, and it irritated Harry. He was suddenly very, very annoyed. “Okay? Good for you,” he answered, pasting on a smile. “You could do with getting laid.” 

Eric’s eyes were darting between Harry’s rapidly. “Yeah? I can cancel,” he said gently. It made Harry’s blood boil. 

“What? Shut up,” he said, already walking backwards, out of Eric’s space. “Should trim that beard though, you look like a homeless. If you want to pull, I mean. Catch you!” 

Harry’s ears were ringing, and he broke into a sprint for the car park. He didn’t want to think too much about why. 

** 

His mood didn’t improve. Harry sat on the sofa at home flicking through the channels with a face like thunder, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. He drank a cup of tea and made himself dinner and had a wank and cleaned his kitchen, all the usual things he did after work, but nothing was really distracting him from the almost apologetic look in Eric’s eyes when he’d told Harry he had a date. 

There was a load of washing that needed folding, so Harry set the basket down in front of the TV and sorted through it whilst the second episode of Corrie played in the background. He was musing over his need for new underwear when he pulled out an unfamiliar pair of grey tracksuit bottoms. He held them up in front of himself, mind whirring - and then smirked. They were Eric’s trousers. Harry had borrowed them after his shower the other week. And Eric should have them back. Like, now. Eric needed his trousers back NOW. 

** 

Harry bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for Eric to answer the door. The lights were on across the house and Harry knew the door was probably unlocked but he didn’t want to, you know, be imposing. He knew Eric had his date, and he didn’t want to intrude. 

Eric opened the door and his mouth dropped open. His cheeks were pink and he was dressed in a tight fighting cashmere jumper. He looked... good. Harry beamed at him. 

“Got your joggers for you!” 

Eric blinked at him. “My what?” 

Harry waved the trousers. “Your joggers!” 

“Oh. Thanks? Harry - “ 

“Couldn’t use your bathroom could I? M’ absolutely bursting,” Harry grinned, making a show of hopping from foot to foot. 

“Winksy - Harry - I’ve got someone over, remember?” 

“Ohhhhh,” Harry said, slapping his forehead. “Was that tonight?! I thought you said that was tomorrow night!” 

Eric pinched his nose in frustration and sighed. “Harry...” 

“I’ll just be a second. Really need to pee, Eric, please,” Harry begged, looking up at him with the puss in boots eyes. 

“I told you, Harry - I clearly said - “ 

“Please, Eric?” Harry looked at him through his eyelashes and willed him to say yes. Don’t say no, say yes. Say yes. 

“Be quick.” Eric opened the door fully and Harry bounced in, smelling delicious cooking mixed in with the familiar smell of Eric’s house. 

He went right to the downstairs bathroom and locked the door, closing the toilet seat and sitting down quietly. He didn’t really need to pee, he’d gone before he left, so he counted to 120 in his head and then flushed, washing his hands with Eric’s fancy hand soap. He knew his next move should be walking out the front door, maybe not even calling a goodbye, but he was curious, okay. He wanted to see this woman Eric had decided to dine in his home, not just at some restaurant somewhere. He wanted to know. 

Harry took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom. 

“Smells amazing!” Harry called loudly, heading into the kitchen. “What’re you - oh! Hello!” Harry exclaimed, pretending to be shocked at the sight of the woman sitting at Eric’s kitchen table. 

She was blonde, skinny, pretty. She was wearing a red wrap dress and had ridiculously long pointy nails which, in Harry’s opinion, looked suspiciously witch-like. She smiled at Harry politely. Harry hated her. 

“Hello,” she said in a soft northern accent. 

“Harry, this is Grace. Grace, this is - “ 

“Grace? You’ve never mentioned a Grace before, Dier. Wasn’t it Amy you were seeing last week?” 

Grace’s jaw dropped and Eric put his head in his hands, sighing. Harry bounced to the cupboard and took out a glass. “Mind if I grab a drink? Thirsty.” 

No one said anything as Harry poured himself a glass of orange juice from Eric’s fridge. He downed the first one and then poured out another, crossing the room and sitting down at the table beside Eric and Grace. 

“So, Gemma - “ 

“Grace.” 

“Grace - what do you do?” 

Grace looked at Eric, who was staring at Harry in disbelief, and back. “I’m a curator for a museum.” 

“Oh. Sounds boring,” Harry laughed. “How’d you guys meet each other?” 

“Harry!” Eric snapped, slamming his hand down on the table. 

“Eric!” Harry shouted back gleefully, slamming his own hand down and daring Eric to go any further. 

“I should probably phone a taxi,” Grace said, looking at her wrist watch. “It’s getting late.” 

“Grace, I’m so sorry,” Eric murmured, pushing his chair back from the table. “I’m not sure what’s going on right now - “ 

“I can phone you one Gemma, what’s your address?” Harry offered sunnily. 

“You shut up,” Eric barked, pointing a finger at Harry. 

“I’ll order an Uber,” Grace said, getting up and following Eric from the kitchen. “Thank you for dinner, Eric,” she was saying, tapping away at her phone screen. Harry was delighted. 

Harry followed them to the door and watched as Eric held Grace’s coat for her to put on before kissing her on the cheek and telling her he’d text her. She smiled sadly and glanced over at Harry once, who waggled his fingers and smiled amiably. Eric opened the door for her, watched her walk to the end of the street to wait for her cab, and then closed it when he was sure she’d been picked up. 

The front door clicked shut and Harry thrummed with anticipation. Eric was leaning against the door one handedly, his neck hanging down between his shoulders. Harry couldn’t breathe. Eric turned around suddenly, expression murderous, and Harry let out a high pitched scream. 

He scrambled for the stairs, unable to make him limbs move fast enough. He knew Eric was right behind him and he pushed his legs as fast as he could, sprinting down the corridor and careening into Eric’s bedroom, leaping onto the bed and pulling the sheets over his head. A nanosecond later and Eric was on him, over him, ripping the bedsheets away and pinning Harry to the bed mercilessly. 

“You should not have done that,” he growled, his face close enough that Harry’s eyes were crossing. “You should not have fucking done that.” 

“Done what?” Harry said breathlessly, willing himself not to get hard. Don’t get hard. Don’t get hard. Don’t get - 

“My last date, Winksy, you phoned me and told me there was an emergency. The emergency was that you couldn’t open a jar of SALSA. The date before that your car broke down on the M6 and you phoned me instead of the fucking AA. The time before that you said you needed to go to A&E but all you needed was to fart. The time before - “ 

“What’s your point,” Harry whispered, grateful that Eric was up on his knees rather than leaning on Harry’s groin.

“Stop ruining my fucking dates!” 

All Harry would have to do to be kissing Eric was just lean up a little bit. Just lift his head a fraction and their mouths would be touching. Harry raised his hand and pressed it to Eric’s thumping heart, letting his gaze drop from Eric’s eyes to his mouth - but then Eric was sighing and getting up, sitting down on the bed and scratching at the back of his head. Harry lay there and composed himself for a second, his head swimming. 

“You’re genuinely annoyed,” he stated eventually, sitting up next to Eric and wrapping his arms around his legs. “I’m sorry - “ 

“I asked you if you wanted me to cancel it,” Eric said, his voice hard. “I explicitly asked you.” 

“I know, but - “ 

“You’ve made a total twat out of both of us. I’m mortified.” Eric sounded disgusted and it made Harry’s heart twist sadly. “You are totally out of line this time.” 

Harry let his forehead drop onto his knees. His bottom lip was wobbling uncontrollably, the back of his throat getting tighter and tighter. This wasn’t how he thought this was going to go. This was so, so not how he thought this was going to go. 

“That poor girl didn’t deserve that - oh, Harry. Are you crying? Jesus Christ. Harry,” Eric’s voice changed, softer again, and Harry was crying fat hot tears onto his cheeks. 

Eric picked him up like he was no heavier than a house cat and plonked him down between his legs, wrapping his arms around him and moving his palm up and down Harry’s back soothingly. Harry was vaguely embarrassed that he’d burst into tears, but mostly he was just glad he wasn’t being told off anymore. Eric let him cry it out for a while, and Harry thought it was over and done with as he rested his head in the crook of Eric’s neck, sniffling into his sleeve and sliding the pad of his forefinger up and down Eric’s clothed bicep. 

“If you don’t like me dating people then I can stop,” Eric said eventually. 

Harry frowned. “Why would I care who you date?” He said it hastily, too quickly. Eric sighed. 

“Harry, if you can’t be honest with me and with yourself then I can’t do this - “ 

“Do what?” Harry said defensively, sitting up straight. “What are you on about?” 

Eric looked at Harry like he was speaking in ancient hieroglyphs. “For fucks sake - “ 

“No, what are you on about?” Harry scrambled out of Eric’s lap and hopped off the bed, standing with his hands on his hips. “Honest about what? You giving me hugs sometimes?” 

“Don’t act stupid because I know you aren’t.” 

“Stupid?!” Harry shrieked, eyes widening. “Stupid! Nice. Nice, I’m stupid now am I?” 

“I didn’t - “ 

“No, that’s fine - stupid, wow. Don’t worry, I know where I’m not wanted. I get the picture.” 

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose again and squeezed his eyes shut. “Do you not want to stay?” He asked through gritted teeth, like he was trying to be the bigger person and it pained him. “With the game tomorrow and that?” 

“Frankly, Eric, you let animals in your bed and that’s disgusting. I’m leaving.” Harry started towards the bedroom door, pausing by Eric’s dresser and picking up a can of purple Right Guard. “And I’m taking this.” 

Harry cried the whole drive home, but at least he didn’t need to stop at Tesco for deodorant anymore. That was a win. 

** 

The following day was game day, and Harry woke up with a slight headache. He reached out for his phone on the nightstand and scrolled through his notifications for Eric’s name, a brick of disappointment settling in his stomach when he didn’t see it. It was rare not to wake up to a text from Eric - he was the earlier riser out of the two of them and he always made sure to send Harry something, even if it was just a meme. 

There was a text from Dele, however. 

Dele: what did u do to diet? 

Harry frowned and propped himself up on his elbow. 

Harry: nothing? Why 

Dele didn’t reply right away, so Harry left his phone in bed and went to shower and shave, faffing about for ages with toenail clippers and nose hair trimmers and even curling his eyelashes with a contraption a girl had left some months ago. By the time he got back into his room there was still nothing. 

He made himself breakfast and then sat upside down on the sofa the way he used to when he was a child and he thought the extra blood to his brain would help him think better. Nothing happened except it made him light headed, so he flipped himself upright, slumped down against the cushions, and waited until an acceptable time to go into work. 

** 

The game was electrifying. 

Harry scored. He fucking scored one in stoppage time of the first half, a beautiful ball kicked towards him by Danny that he somehow, by some stroke of luck, booted in the back of the net, right through the goalie’s legs. The crowd was thunderous, Harry was incandescent, the world seemed to be on fire. It was the goal that won them the match. 

He still wasn’t playing, but Harry knew Eric was somewhere watching. As they clattered down the tunnel after the game Harry’s neck craned this way and that in search of him, but there was no sign. 

“He’s not here,” a voice said to Harry’s right. 

“What?” Harry asked Dele, feigning nonchalance. “Who?” 

“Dier. He’s watching at home.” 

“Oh. What was that text about, by the way? This morning?” 

Dele peeled off his shoes and socks and looked at Harry with narrowed eyes. “Eric showed up at mine last night and I’ve never seen him angrier in my life.” 

“Nothing to do with me.” 

“He said he wanted to break your legs.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll go round and see him.” 

“Probably best. Well done again, by the way. Quality goal.” 

It took Harry ages to get out of the bowels of the stadium. Everyone wanted to congratulate him, and he had to do a couple of interviews, had to receive the man of the match trophy. He kept checking his phone for a text from Eric but there was nothing, and he tried not to let it dampen his mood. 

The traffic was shocking, too - it took him an hour to get three miles from the stadium, and from there another forty minutes to get home. It was already past 11 at night and Harry wanted to catch Eric before he was sound asleep and a jet engine wouldn’t wake him. He showered in record speed, brushed his teeth, did a pee. His phone was blowing up with everyone but Eric and he ignored it, deciding it could all wait till the morning. Everything else could just wait. 

He got back in the car and drove across London again, the traffic a bit better but still slow enough that he was shouting and swearing at anyone who seemed to be taking a leisurely Sunday drive. He couldn’t stop biting his nails on the way there, eyes glancing at the time in dashboard every thirty seconds. It was 12:36 when Harry pulled up outside Eric’s house and the place was in darkness. 

He cursed under his breath and got out the car, jogging to the front door and banging loud enough to make the dogs bark in the hope Eric would hear them. They did indeed start barking - loud enough to wake the whole street. Harry pushed open the letter box and started making exaggerated shushing sounds into it but that only seemed to make things worse. He saw the next door neighbour’s bedroom light come on and he was really about to start panicking when the front door opened and Harry fell into the house in a heap on Eric’s feet. 

“Winksy?!” 

“Hi,” Harry mumbled, pleased the dogs had stopped barking and had instead taken to sniffing and licking him. 

“What are you - “ 

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted, getting to his feet. “About yesterday. That was really childish of me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He wrapped his arms around Eric’s shoulders and hoisted himself up, breathing a sigh of relief when Eric’s hands found their way under his thighs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Eric locked the front door and turned for the stairs, carrying Harry with him. “I wasn’t calling you stupid yesterday,” Eric said quietly. Harry could tell from his voice that he’d been asleep, maybe for quite some time. He was shirtless and warm and Harry wanted to be glued to him all the time, every day. 

“I know. I was just being a dick. I’m so sorry.” 

Eric nudged his bedroom door closed behind him and dropped Harry down on the mattress, climbing up the bed himself and getting back under the sheets. Harry kicked off his shoes and removed his clothes, well versed in the unbelievable heat that came with sharing Eric’s bed. He crawled up the mattress and slid into Eric’s space, eyes picking out nothing but the general shape of Eric’s body in the dark. 

“Saw your goal,” Eric said sleepily, his hand finding its way to Harry’s hip. “That was stunning.” 

“Why didn’t you text me?” 

“Didn’t think you wanted to speak to me. You stormed out of my house yesterday and nicked my deodorant.” 

Harry bit on his lip and grinned. After a moment he said, “Always want to speak to you.” 

Eric moved then, so quickly Harry didn’t realise immediately that he’d been pushed onto his back. Eric was looming above him, a dark shape that was starting to come into focus the more Harry’s eyes adjusted. Harry raised a hand tentatively and touched it to Eric’s face, his fingers combing through the scruff on his cheek. Eric nudged at Harry’s legs with his own and Harry’s thighs fell apart easily, accommodating the bigger man in his space perfectly. Eric was resting on his forearms and breathing deeply in Harry’s ear, his hips just hovering over Harry’s. 

“Seeing you play like that tonight, Harry, Jesus fuck... you drive me fucking crazy, did you know that?” 

Harry swallowed, making a humming sound. He didn’t think he could form words if he tried. His fingers came up around the back of Eric’s neck, scratching lightly at the rough hair there. 

“You’re so... such a little dark horse, ain’t you?” Eric nosed along Harry’s cheek, his jaw. “So fucking good out there. Made me so proud.” 

Harry hummed again but it was whiney, high pitched. He was half hard in his boxers already. Eric’s left hand moved down Harry’s body, leaving his weight suspended on his right forearm. Harry’s breath hitched when Eric gripped his hip, his fingers strong and unforgiving. Eric’s lips moved lightly against Harry’s jaw bone, and suddenly all oxygen was gone from the dark room. 

“Everyone loves you,” Eric said quietly, placing his lips against Harry’s neck properly. “Bet you every bloke in that stadium tonight wants to fuck you senseless.” As he finished his sentence Eric brought his hips down once experimentally against Harry’s and licked at his skin, closing his lips in a gentle suck. Harry whimpered. “Every man in there tonight just wishing they could get you like this in their beds, weren’t they?” He drew back his hips and pressed them down again, rolling it, dry humping him like he was really fucking him. “Lying underneath ‘em with your legs spread, just like this,” Eric said, voice impossibly low, lips pressing wet kisses in time with the rhythm of his hips. “Bet you’d take it so well, wouldn’t you, baby?” 

Harry couldn’t make his brain form words. He was painfully hard, utterly in disbelief, and so turned on he couldn’t remember what day it was. He could only let out a throaty noise that he hoped Eric would never ever tell anyone about. Harry wasn’t sure what they were doing or why Eric had taken the joking around to this level. His body felt like it was on fire. 

“Yeah? You wish you were getting fucked right now, Winksy? Just like this?” Eric slammed his hips down once, twice, three times slowly. “Nice and deep, all full up with cock? That how you want it?” 

Harry had to be dreaming. He had to be fucking dreaming right now, there was no way - 

“Seventy thousand men and women across London and they all wish they could suck your pretty cock right now, isn’t that a thought.” Eric bit down on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Eric,” Harry managed, his voice strained. “Eric,” he said again, trying to signal for a break, or for Eric to stop, stop kissing his neck, stop fucking humping him, it was all too much - but Eric didn’t stop, didn’t let up. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby, all spread out like this. You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d let me fuck you. You’d totally let me - “ 

“ERIC - “ 

Eric’s hips started moving faster, harder, the dull sound of their boxers meeting filling the room and Eric’s hand painfully gripping the skin on Harry’s hip. “Let me come inside you, Winks? Make you feel so good? Make you come so fucking hard on my cock. Wanna come on your fucking freckles, fucking mark you as mine, you’re mine - “ 

Harry moaned, loud, and arched off the bed, his face pressing against Eric’s neck. Eric froze. 

Harry panted wetly against Eric’s skin, his body feeling so, so good - and then, immediately afterwards, full of shame. Eric still wasn’t moving, didn’t seem to be breathing. Harry let his head fall back heavily against the pillow and used his hands to cover his face, groaning in embarrassment. 

“Harry... did you just - “ 

“Shut up,” Harry cried, wishing the bed would swallow him up. “Don’t say it.” 

Eric pushed himself up and away from his spot between Harry’s legs, and Harry was just relieved Eric couldn’t see how red his face was. 

“Baby - “ 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Harry. It’s okay. Please don’t be embarrassed.” 

“You didn’t just come in your pants!” 

“Oh Harry, I’m sorry, why didn’t you say -“ 

“I was trying! You weren’t listening to me!” 

“Harry,” Eric said again, but he was laughing and Harry hated him. “C’mon. Please - “ 

“Stop laughing,” Harry snapped, sitting up and turning his back to Eric. His boxers were damp and sticky, and he needed to get cleaned up ASAP. “I’m gonna go in the bathroom now and if you follow me I’ll never, ever, ever speak to you again.” 

“I won’t follow you,” Eric said, and his voice was so infuriatingly tender that Harry wanted to punch him. “Oh Winksy, I’m - “ 

“Don’t want to hear it!” Harry interrupted, clambering out of the ridiculously sized bed and semi - waddling into the en-suite bathroom. He flicked on the lights and squinted as he acclimatised, peeling his underwear off and tossing them into Eric’s laundry basket. He took a handful of toilet paper and wiped come off his groin, flushing away any evidence as quickly as possible. Harry sighed and splashed some cool water on his face at the sink, unable to process what had just happened. Did Eric mean those things? Or was he playing a stupid game and it went too far? Harry turned off the tap and glanced at himself in the mirror, gasping. 

There were three dark purple marks on his neck and the imprint of a set of teeth in the meat of his shoulder. Harry looked down at his hip and found five round pink marks blooming there, destined to become bruises. He felt his cock twitch pathetically at the sight of the markings and he frowned down at it. 

“You’ve gotten us in enough trouble tonight,” he hissed. “Behave yourself.” 

He turned the light off again and walked naked into the bedroom. Eric was still lying there, Harry could see him, and he said nothing as Harry felt around on the floor for his discarded joggers. 

“Did a good job of making it look like I’ve done ten rounds with Edward Cullen,” Harry said finally, pulling his trousers on quickly. 

“With who?” 

“Vampire off Twilight.” 

“Have I bruised you?” 

Yes, Harry wanted to say. You’ve marked me like territory. I want you to mark me up some more. 

“Couple on my neck. No big deal.” 

“Sorry about that.” 

“Whatever,” Harry said nonchalantly, getting back into bed. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell Dele about this.” 

“I never tell him anything we do.” 

“He said you went round his last night and told him you want to break my legs.” 

“Well... you were being a little shit last night.” 

Harry lay down as far from Eric as he could get whilst being in the same bed and pulled the covers up to his neck. “Well. G’night.” 

Eric was laughing again. “Oh Harry, don’t do this,” he said, reaching out and grabbing at Harry’s waist. “Come here.” 

“Stop,” Harry pleaded, his voice breaking a bit. “Please, please stop. I’m so embarrassed, Eric. And I don’t want to talk about it either. Please just go to sleep.” 

Eric released a breath, like he didn’t want to leave things like this but also wanted to respect Harry’s wishes. “Okay. Fine, okay. Good night.” 

Harry listened as Eric lay down again. It was silent for a while, and Harry felt sadness bubble in his gut that he was in bed with Eric but not touching him. He reached out his hand carefully and felt around blindly until his fingers found Eric’s. Harry slid their hands together and Eric squeezed back and they fell asleep like that, on opposite sides of the bed with their hands clasped together in the middle. 

** 

Harry woke up to a big pair of blue eyes in his face. 

“Morning,” Eric whispered, his fingers stroking through Harry’s hair. 

Harry only managed a few seconds of peace before the events of the previous night came flooding back and he wanted to hide his face in the pillows. He felt his cheeks heat up and Eric must’ve been able to tell what was going on in his mind because he frowned, his whole expression changing. 

“No. Don’t retreat again. Harry - “ 

“We should get into work,” Harry said, putting his hand on Eric’s bicep and shoving futilely. “I’ll jump in the shower now.” 

Eric grabbed Harry’s face in both of his hands and held him still. “Harry, I want you to understand that what happened last night was the hottest thing I have ever seen in my life. I’m not ashamed of it and I don’t want you to be either.” Harry blinked at Eric and nodded. “Okay. Go shower. I’ll find you some stuff to wear.” 

Harry scooted out of bed and locked himself in the bathroom, breathing heavily behind the door. Jesus Christ. Fucking hell. He flicked on the shower and lightly fingered the bruises on his neck as he waited for the water to heat up. 

** 

“Someone did some good celebrating last night!” 

Harry scowled and pulled his collar further up his neck, fingers fumbling at the laces of his boots. 

“Fuckin hell, Winksy, was she hungry?” 

Harry shot a warning glare at Trippier. “Shut up, guys.” 

“Wait until Eric sees that,” Toby laughed. 

“Hope I’m not in the vicinity,” Kane joked, pulling a pair of gloves on. 

“Excuse me?” Harry said, standing up with one boot on. “What are you saying?” 

“He said ‘wait until Eric sees that’,” Sonny offered, smiling happily at Harry. 

“I know what he - what’s Eric got to do with it?!” Harry snapped at the changing room. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly elsewhere. “Seriously? What am I missing here? Is this a joke? Another twink joke? You going to start accusing me of being a... a baby - “ 

“You are totally Eric Dier’s baby, Winksy,” Dele said, voice bored and uninterested. “Sorry. You just are.” 

Harry’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no sound came out. He was mortified and no one was looking him in the eye and he could feel a hot red blush creeping up his neck. 

“No I’m - “ 

“Yes, you are,” Dele said in a no nonsense tone. “You are so his baby. Everyone knows it. Poch even calls you ‘Dier’s bebe’ when you’re not there.” 

Harry gawped at Dele and looked around the room for someone, anyone to tell him Dele was just being a dick. Harry Kane was looking at him sympathetically and when their eyes met he shrugged. 

“It’s true, Winksy.” 

Harry blinked and then turned and marched out of the changing room, his one boot clicking awkwardly. He stormed down the corridor, through the gym at the far side of the facility, all the way to the physio rooms where he knew Eric would be. 

Harry shoved open the door and saw Eric sitting alone, stretching his calves using an elastic band. He glanced up when Harry came in and smiled warmly, but his face changed when he saw Harry’s expression. 

“Hey - “ 

“Am I your baby?!” Harry shouted, his hands on his hips and his eyebrows tugged down low. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Am I. Your. Baby?!” 

Eric put the elastic band down on the bench next to him and sighed. “I mean... yeah. Yeah, I think of you as my baby.” 

Harry ignored the part of him that positively purred hearing those words come out of Eric’s mouth and focussed instead on the anger and irritation buzzing through him. 

“Why does everyone know I’m your baby but me?! Is this some kind of joke?” 

Eric got up and walked over to Harry, his big warm hand spreading out over the side of Harry’s neck. “You know you’re my baby,” he said in a low voice, an infuriating smile on his face. “Right? You must know you’re my - “ 

Harry pushed Eric’s arm away and stomped his foot. “I didn’t know! I had no idea! Is this why everyone calls me fucking Harry Twinks? Because of you? I fucking - I am so angry at you!” 

“What? No, Harry, for goodness sake! It’s not a fucking conspiracy that everyone in England is in on but you. It’s just our teammates seeing the way we behave around each other and putting two and two - “ 

“Two and two and getting fucking five. Just because I like to get a cuddle from you sometimes, Dier, doesn’t mean you can go around proclaiming that I’m your baby!” 

Eric’s face changed, and Harry knew he’d said something he shouldn’t have. “You know what, Harry? Fuck off. This is what I meant before, about being honest with yourself. I’m not doing this anymore. I am done. I’m fucking done. Until you’re ready to face your fears and behave like an adult then I’m seriously fucking done.” 

Harry looked at Eric’s heaving chest and did his best not to burst into tears. Why did it feel like he was being broken up with if he wasn’t, in fact, Eric’s baby? Why did the thought of losing him make Harry feel like he was going to throw up? 

“Fine,” Harry said instead. “Good. That’s what I want too. See you around.” 

He turned and stormed out of the room before he could buckle, before he gave up and climbed Eric like a tree and told him something stupid like “I love you” or “I want to be yours so bad” or “I want to tell them all you put these marks on me last night.” Harry pinched at his tear ducts and barrelled back into the locker rooms. He put on his other shoe, gave himself a shake, and went outside to distract himself with football. 

—


	2. Chapter 2

In the six days since he’d been dumped, Harry had cried 26 times, had 17 wanks, 1 shitty date and 0 contact with Eric Dier. 

His date was a posh dinner with some girl called Megan who’d DM’d him on Instagram and the whole thing was terrible. They had nothing in common - she didn’t even know who Mario Balotelli was - and the sex afterwards had been abysmal. Harry had pretty much thumbed in a softie and in the end the only way he could get himself going was by replaying the things Eric had whispered against his neck in bed last week. Harry almost whispered Eric’s name when he came into the condom, catching himself and turning it into a muffled grunt at the last minute. 

Megan fell asleep on top of Harry’s right arm and as she lay there snoring he stared up at the ceiling, wondering where Eric was and what he was doing. Harry thought again about what happened that night in bed when he’d came in his pants and wondered how much of it Eric meant - did he really want to fuck Harry like that? Harry felt his dick stirring in his pants and he nipped the inside of his thigh to distract himself. 

Dele hadn’t really been speaking to him very much, which didn’t surprise Harry. They’d been friends forever but Eric and Dele were closer, operated on another level. It wasn’t that he was outright ignoring Harry, necessarily, but he was short and clipped and didn’t text as much anymore. Harry was only a little bit devastated about it. 

Eric himself was infuriatingly grown up about the whole thing. He still said hello to Harry when they bumped into each other at work - the first time Harry’d seen him two days after their initial argument, Harry had looked up at him with the big puppy eyes and Eric just smiled at him like he was totally unaffected, like Harry was as cute as Kieran Trippier after 90 minutes on the pitch. Eric had smiled and kept on walking and Harry felt like his heart had been put in a blender and served up in a glass with a paper umbrella in it. 

So he’d messaged Megan and shagged her and was trying to just get on with it. He was trying to get on with life like the not-baby he was. It was hard, though, when he woke up in the middle of the night and had no one to phone and talk to him till he fell asleep again, and it was hard when he needed a bit of touch and no one knew how to hold him properly, and it was harder still when Eric was walking around the changing rooms with those big shoulders and those arms and those hands and Harry wasn’t allowed to go over and just, you know... be on him. 

One week without Eric became two which then became three. Harry was functioning fine, just going to work and going home and having the occasional hook up that left him unsatisfied and lonelier than before. He was lying in bed on the third Friday night, doing nothing, when he decided to text Dele and ask him why he was being so off. 

Harry: you annoyed at me? 

He put his phone on loud and waited for the response with knots in his stomach. It took Dele thirty minutes to respond. 

Dele: little bit 

Harry: I didn’t do anything 

Dele: Eric says you blamed the homophobic abuse u get on him and told him u want him to stay away from u 

Harry frowned. It wasn’t EXACTLY like that. Not really. Maybe a little bit. 

Harry: he was stealth babying me 

Dele: I’m going to knock you the fuck out 

Harry gasped at the unnecessary violence and put his phone down. Dele would calm down, he was sure, but he couldn’t say the same about Eric. If Harry really was his baby, Eric wasn’t babying him very well, was he? Leaving him untended for 3 weeks without so much as a check in? It wasn’t fair. Harry picked up his phone again and pulled up his last conversation with Eric, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as he stared at the screen. He debated back and forth between saying something and saying nothing, between holding his hands up and admitting he was wrong, and retaining the moral high ground - whatever that was. 

But he missed him. Harry missed him terribly, so much it felt like a physical pain. He typed out the word ‘hi’, sent it, and waited. If he knew Eric at all, even a little bit, he knew he’d be missing Harry too and he’d probably be thrilled Harry had reached out and he’d probably ask him to come over right away and Harry would get his first full night’s sleep for weeks and maybe they’d talk about things and maybe they’d kiss, finally, and - 

Eric: Hi, Harry, hope you’re well. I need a bit of space mate, okay? I’m sorry

Harry’s face crumpled. He dropped his phone and let his head fall into his hands, panic beginning to set in. Maybe he really had been out of order, and maybe Eric’s patience with him wasn’t a given. Maybe this was the wrong time for him to be realising that. 

Harry: it’s been three weeks?   
Harry: I miss you 

Harry waited for a response, but nothing came. It was getting late and he had to be at work early the following morning, so he flicked off his bedroom light and fell asleep with an uneasy feeling rolling in his chest. 

— 

Harry woke up grumpy and sleepy despite having slept over 8 hours. He sat on the edge of his bed staring at the carpet for 15 minutes before he had the mind to pull himself into the shower. He washed his hair aggressively and made himself gag with the force of his toothbrushing. He accidentally let his weetabix get too soggy to eat and ended up leaving the house 20 minutes later than he wanted to, running the risk of a fine and meaning his whole day was thrown off kilter. 

When he stumbled into the changing rooms everyone was already dressed and heading out the door. Harry glanced over at Eric but he wasn’t looking, instead eating a banana and checking something on his phone with an unbothered air. He was back to training and Harry was going to have spend all day in his presence like some kind of draconian torture punishment. He looked around the room whilst he laced his boots and zeroed in on Jan, who was zipping up his outerwear and preparing to go outside. Harry jogged after him once his boots were on, catching up and leaning in close to his side. 

“Good morning!” 

“I’m not going to be your new... whatever Dier was. Sorry, Winks,” Jan said matter of factly, stepping away from Harry and smiling at him sympathetically. 

Harry tried and failed not to go bright red. “Oh. I wasn’t - okay,” he said, hanging back just long enough to get a bit of distance between them. Someone else, then. 

** 

Lunch time was brutal. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits but Harry, who was pushing his fork around his plate sadly and trying and failing not to stare at Eric. Eric and Dele were sat at the other end of the long table laughing uproariously with Toby and Kieran about something Harry had missed the beginning of, and the sound of their happiness was like nails on a chalk board. Harry was wondering whether the chicken on his plate had a nice life before it was killed when Toby called his name. Harry looked up suspiciously. 

“Yeah?” 

“I said, you must get asked for ID a lot? You have a child face,” he laughed, eyes crinkling. 

Harry looked from Toby to Eric, who was staring at his own plate, and back. “I mean... not really?” 

“No? I don’t believe that!” 

“Yeah, Winksy,” added Danny, grinning. “You’ve got what... a thousand freckles on your face. You look like a school kid.” 

Harry scowled indignantly. “I do not! I do not have a thousand freckles either!” 

“Not far off it,” Dele snorted. 

“Piss off. I’ve not got a thousand freckles, I don’t get ID’d anymore than normal, I don’t - “ 

“Fifty four freckles.” Everyone at the table turned to look at Eric, who was no longer staring at his plate. “He has fifty four freckles. On his face.” The mood shifted, changed. Harry felt his cheeks grow hot and no one was laughing anymore. Eric cleared his throat and stood up. “See you all in a bit.” 

It was silent at the table for what felt like forever. Harry was eternally grateful when Christian cleared his throat and asked what they all thought of the quinoa today. The conversation moved on, Harry’s face returned to its normal colour, and the world kept on spinning. 

** 

Harry stood in front of his bathroom mirror and counted for the third time. 

Fifty four. There were indeed fifty four freckles on his face. 

He threw himself into bed that night with the air of Blanche Dubois, and lay staring into the dark for a long long time. 

— 

Hugo invited them all for dinner at his place to celebrate his wife’s birthday, and Harry invited Megan as his plus one for lack of a better option. 

It wasn’t really appropriate, bringing an Insta hook up to your captain’s wife’s dinner party, but he didn’t want to show up alone. He couldn’t stand the thought of Eric bringing someone and Harry being the sad lonely guy, third wheeling on all the conversations and being looked at with pity by everyone’s wives. 

Harry had a car service take him and Megan to Hugo’s place - he planned to drink plenty of wine to get through the evening. Megan looked lovely when she turned up at Harry’s, but Harry was distracted and short, anxiety eating away at him. He sat on the arm of his sofa and let his knee bounce as he stared into space, Megan staying quiet and pouring herself a glass of white wine whilst they waited. 

The car honked outside not a moment too soon. Harry jumped up and grabbed Marine’s present, darting to the front door and waiting impatiently for Megan to pick up her bag, check her hair in the mirror, start faffing about with her fake eyelashes.

“Can we get a move on?!” Harry snapped. 

Megan frowned at him. “What’s the matter with you?” 

“I don’t want to keep anyone waiting!” 

She rolled her eyes and pushed past him, out to the car in a cloud of sweet smelling perfume and the clatter of heels on cement. Harry locked the door, patted his pockets for his phone and wallet, and joined her. 

** 

They were one of the first parties to arrive at Hugo’s. Toby and his wife were there as well as Dele and his date that Harry didn’t know the name of but who seemed to know Megan already. Christian and his wife were there and Kieran and his, too. 

Harry vaguely introduced Megan with a wave of his hand and disappeared into the kitchen in search of wine. He handed Marine her present and gave her a kiss on the cheek, wasting no time in asking her for a glass. She was looking at him strangely, almost in a motherly way, and Harry didn’t care for it. 

“Are you okay, Harry?” 

Harry smiled at her. “I’m great. The white’s open, you said?” 

She handed him the bottle and left. Harry poured a large glass and downed half of it before filling it all the way up again and returning to the living room where everyone was mingling and chatting. Since he’d been in the kitchen, Danny and Paulo had shown up and it was getting somewhat crowded. Harry stood near Megan and Dele’s date, checking his watch and taking another drink. 

“You didn’t get me one?” 

Harry looked at Megan gormlessly. “Uh... you didn’t say you wanted one?” 

“Oh my god,” Megan muttered, stomping off to the kitchen. Harry pulled a face and took another sip of his wine. 

“You’re such a fucking tit,” Dele said from where he was standing with his arm around mystery girl’s waist. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Who’s this?” Harry asked, nodding at the girl. 

“I’m Lucy,” she said, looking him up and down. “And you’re being a dick.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows and was ready to argue when a voice caught his attention. He turned around and watched as Eric walked in, alone and holding a bunch of flowers. 

He looked wonderful - he was wearing a tight shirt and he’d trimmed his beard and he looked fresh and energetic, soft, safe. Harry stared at him as he greeted Marine with a hug, beaming down at her like the sophisticated grown up he was. Marine started leading him off towards the kitchen and as he turned to leave Eric’s eyes swept the room, stopping on Harry’s and gazing intently. 

Harry felt his heart clench and he buried his face in his wine glass, downing it as a distraction. Megan was back then, and Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders affectionately, earning a scoff from Dele. 

“So how did you two meet?” asked Lucy. 

Harry listened to Megan recount the story, hyperaware of his empty glass. She was doing a good job of making it sound far more interesting than it was when Eric came back into the room and approached their circle, kissing Lucy on the cheek and doing a handshake with Dele. Eric turned to Harry and Megan and smiled politely. Harry stared at him dumbly until Megan elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Oh - this is Megan,” he supplied, voice shaky. “Megan, this is Eric. He’s on the team. Obviously.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Megan,” Eric said, holding out a hand for her to shake. 

She giggled at him, clearly finding him charming or sexy or something equally as annoying. Harry felt like telling her to get her tongue back in her mouth. 

“I’m going to refill,” he said instead, retracting his arm from around her and going back to the kitchen. 

Harry poured another large glass, finishing up the bottle, and spotted a big bottle of vodka in the corner - this was Hugo’s house, after all. A couple of shots wouldn’t hurt. 

** 

The couple of shots did hurt. 

Harry was wasted before the starter had even been served. He was sat down on the sofa with Megan pulled down on his lap, his hand on her thigh, and was shouting across the room at whoever would listen to him. He could see people shooting glances but he didn’t care - he was here to have a good time. 

“This is a birthday party, you boring bastards! Get the Spice Girls on!” 

“Fucking take it down a notch, mate,” Dele hissed at him, but Harry ignored him. 

Eric was mostly hanging out in the kitchen helping the Lloris’s prepare, and when he eventually meandered into the living room with a beer and his sleeves rolled up Harry tried to get Megan to snog him. He ended up cutting her lip with his front teeth and she and Lucy went off to the bathroom to clean up, shooting daggers at Harry who was sloshing wine perilously out of his glass and glaring at Eric. 

Eric was doing a good job of looking anywhere other than at Harry, and it was driving Harry crazy. What did he have to do? Did he have to strip in the middle of the room? Maybe that wasn’t actually a bad idea. It was a party, after all. Harry wobbled up off his seat and was about to step into the middle of the room when Hugo appeared in the doorway, clapping his hands and announcing the food was ready. 

Harry decided to save that idea for later. 

**

The dining table had been decorated beautifully. It was long enough to accommodate everyone comfortably. Harry and Megan were sat next to Dele and Lucy, whilst Eric and Danny were sat opposite them at the other end, as much distance between them as possible. Harry wondered if that had been a conscious decision. 

The starter was a prawn cocktail. Harry watched Eric explaining how to de-tail the prawns to Danny with a warm smile on his face, and he felt rage flare up inside him. That was uncalled for, really - Harry wasn’t flirting with anyone right in front of Eric. Megan didn’t count. He pushed his prawns away from him and folded his arms grumpily, pointedly turning his head in the other direction. He needed more wine. 

The second course came out in quick succession. It was a risotto al funghi and Harry grimaced at it - he hated mushrooms. Wasn’t Hugo fucking French, anyway? 

“Doesn’t mean we cannot cook Italian food?” Hugo said suddenly, and Harry looked at him in surprise. 

“Did I say that out loud?” 

“Yes,” said Hugo, Dele, Lucy and Megan at the same time, none of them impressed. 

“Oops.” 

Harry was picking the mushrooms out of his risotto with his fingers when he spotted Danny positively tittering into Eric’s side and Eric wiping a bit of sauce from Danny’s nose with his napkin. Harry’s hands gripped the edge of the table and he stared at them furiously, sure his whole head was about to explode. The utter disrespect, the complete audacity - and then Harry saw Eric laugh softly and say “You’re such a baby, Danny,” and that was it. 

Harry stood up so violently that his chair fell over, slammed his hands down on the table and bellowed “I’M BABY!” 

Harry heard Dele groan “For fucks sake” and Lucy say “Who lied to him and told him this behaviour’s acceptable?” But all he cared about was the fact that Eric moved his hand away from Danny’s face, that he was staring at Harry now, that he was finally giving him all his attention. 

“I’m baby,” Harry said again, more quietly. It was just for Eric. “I’m your baby.” 

“I think you should phone a taxi, Winks,” Hugo said in a firm voice, breaking the tension. “You’ve had too much to drink.” 

“No,” Harry said, feeling his tummy gurgle all of a sudden. “I need - I have things to say - “ 

“Say them once you’ve sobered up - “ 

“Let me speak! I need... I need...” 

“Winksy?” 

“I need - “ Harry’s sentence was stopped short as he quite suddenly projectile vomited all over the table. 

Harry tried to cover his mouth but that just caused the vomit to spray out the sides all over Megan, the walls, out his nose. Harry was aware of someone screaming and that Marine was crying, and he felt really, really bad about that, but then a familiar pair of hands were tugging at him and Eric was speaking, he was apologising to Hugo and offering to clean up but Hugo was saying get him out, just get him out of here, and Harry was wiping his mouth on Eric’s shirt and crying a little bit and hanging onto his big fingers like he’d float away if he didn’t. 

Eric put a steadying hand on the back of his neck and guided him to the door, down the driveway. Harry was blubbering and repeating that he was sorry but Eric just shushed him, telling him to take his clothes off before he got in the car covered in sick. Eric dug a plastic bag out of his boot and put Harry’s clothes and his own shirt in whilst Harry climbed in the passenger seat and fiddled with the seatbelt. Eric came round and took it out of his hands, fastening him in carefully and placed another plastic bag in front of him just in case. 

They didn’t speak on the way home, and Harry was disappointed to see that Eric was driving him back to his own house. He didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want him to go back to the party and leave him again, and he didn’t know how to say it without it sounding weird, didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted. 

“I don’t have to go if you don’t want me to,” Eric said gently, glancing over at Harry. “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.” 

Harry blushed and looked out the window, annoyed at himself for getting so drunk and making such a scene. Eric pulled up to his house before too long. He’d already taken the keys from Harry’s jeans before putting them in the bag and he opened the front door for Harry, letting him shuffle inside before he closed it behind them. Eric took off his shoes and dumped the keys in the bowl in the hallway, turning to look at Harry with a shrug. 

“You’re a silly boy.” 

Harry could feel his bottom lip wobbling again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyebrows pulling together. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You’re just tired. You’ve had a bit much to drink.” 

Harry didn’t deserve Eric’s kindness and he knew it. He took Eric’s hand and let himself be led upstairs to his bedroom. Eric tucked him under the sheets and Harry looked up at him and begged him not to go, begged him to stay, and Eric was stroking his hair and telling him just to go to sleep. So he did. 

** 

He was going to die. Harry was going to die. 

He’d never felt like this in his life. The pain going through his body was on another level. He felt like if he moved he’d throw up, he was sure he was blind. His skin hurt to touch and his head felt like it’d been crushed. He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and groaned, breathing deeply to ride a wave of nausea. Yesterday’s events came back to him and suddenly Harry was overcome with anxiety on top of it all. He was fucking mortified to say the least - he had some serious making up to do to Hugo and his wife, to Megan, to Eric. 

Eric. Harry turned his head to the right as a surge of adrenaline roared through him. The bed was empty, and he sat up quickly, ignoring the way it made him feel like he was going to throw up. Eric hadn’t stayed even though Harry’d asked him to. Eric had left. He’d fucking - Harry’s head whipped to the bedroom door as it opened quietly and Eric crept in, clearly trying not to make any noise. He closed the bedroom door softly and looked over at the bed, startling when he saw Harry was awake. 

“Did I wake you?” He asked gently, coming over to the bed and lying down again. “I had to pee.” 

Harry shook his head and lay back down too. “Thought you weren’t here.” 

“You asked me to stay,” Eric said, smiling slightly. “So I stayed.” 

“I’ve fucked up, haven’t I?” 

Eric’s face said it all and Harry groaned. 

“I’m so embarrassed.” 

“You’ve got a lot of making up to do,” Eric said softly. “You ruined Marine’s dinner.” 

Harry thought he was going to cry again and it made him feel pathetic because he wasn’t the victim here, but he hated feeling like a dick head. He hated what he’d done last night. 

“I hate myself,” he said, turning onto his belly and stuffing his face into the pillows, hands clenching in the sheets. “I’m so angry at myself.” This was when Eric would rub his back, tell him not to worry too much, that everything’d be fine, but the contact never came. 

Harry turned his head to look at Eric again and took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry for what I said to you. When I blamed things on you. I didn’t mean that.” 

Eric rolled onto his side so that he could face Harry better and smiled lazily. “You really hurt me.” 

“I would never, ever try to hurt you on purpose. I only want you to be happy,” Harry replied, rolling over too so that they were face to face. 

“I need you to start being honest about your feelings, Harry.” 

Harry let his eyes close for a moment, then he opened them back up. “I want to be honest with you.” 

“I don’t think of you as my baby because I want to control you or tell you how to act or infantilise you. I think of you as my baby because I want to take care of you. Because there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you if you asked me. It’s not... sexual, at least it doesn’t have to be, not if you’re not comfortable with that - but if you don’t want me like that then you need to be okay with me giving my attention to other people. If you can’t share and you aren’t all in, Harry, then maybe it’s not something we should do. Are you following me?” 

Harry nodded, tried not to cry. “I do want that,” he said in a small voice. “I want it so much.” 

“I have feelings for you. Okay? Do you understand? I have romantic and sexual feelings for you.” 

Harry felt his heart swoop, butterflies erupting in his stomach. He wanted to look away and hide his face but Eric was staring at him so intensely, so earnest and open and sincere. It was almost too much, too much for his brain to process on top of his hangover and his embarrassment and anxiety. He couldn’t help but choke out a little sob, feeling overwhelmed and choked up. 

“I feel the same,” he managed, a tear sliding over his nose and splashing onto the bed sheet. “I like you too. So much,” he wriggled forward, closing the gap between them. “I need - can we talk about this more later? I - there’s so much in my head right now,” he pleaded, and Eric smiled and pulled him in close and Harry felt like he was going to wail with relief, pure relief. 

Eric smelled familiar and homey and warm and Harry loved him. He closed his eyes and drifted in and out of sleep with Eric all around him, finally. 

** 

The rest of the day, when Harry finally felt well enough to get out of bed, was easy and lazy. Harry had to send apology messages to all of the dinner guests - Megan replied with the middle finger emoji, Dele sent the two eyes - and he arranged with an online florist for flowers to be delivered to the Lloris’s. He couldn’t stop cringing when he remembered his outburst at the table, groaning out loud and sticking his face in Eric’s armpit, begging him to take the memories away. 

Eric had carefully prised Harry’s face out and held onto his chin softly, a smile on his face. “I can take your mind off it, if you really want me to,” he’d murmured, and Harry’s mind stopped racing, stopped torturing him, zeroed in on the man in front of him. He nodded once, the tiniest movement of his head, but Eric knew. He always knew. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to Harry’s. Harry’s body was singing, his lips tingling. Eric kissed him again, opening his mouth a bit, and Harry leaned up onto his tiptoes and kissed him back desperately. Eric smiled against Harry’s mouth and pulled back, grinning when Harry chased his mouth, his fingers scrabbling at the back of Eric’s neck to pull his head down. More, more, more, he needed more - 

“Easy,” Eric laughed, hand coming down to squeeze Harry’s waist. “There’s no rush.” 

Harry frowned and whined and it made Eric’s eyes darken, the smile sliding off his face. 

“So needy,” Eric breathed, head dipping down and lips brushing over Harry’s. “Makes me dizzy thinking about how much you want it.” 

He let Harry kiss him again then, and Harry was glad because he was definitely blushing. They stood in the middle of the room and kissed for ages, testing things out, testing each other out. Eric’s tongue swiped at Harry’s bottom lip and Harry’s legs nearly gave out. He pressed himself ever closer, toes straining against the carpet to push him nearer, fingers pressing so hard to Eric’s skin his nails must’ve been white. He didn’t realise he was making sad little noises until Eric put his hands around Harry’s thighs and hoisted him up, changing the angle, letting Harry feel more in control. 

They kissed for a long time. Eventually Eric had to put Harry down again and put some space between them, reminding Harry he had to go home and check on the dogs, give them breakfast and what not. Harry must’ve looked stricken because Eric kissed him again and told him he could come, come over and have dinner if he wanted, if he was up to it. 

Harry went off to get dressed happily, pausing in his bedroom mirror and touching his fingers to his swollen pink lips, a sign that seemed to be saying ‘Eric Dier was here.’ He pulled on cosy clothes and bounded downstairs, plowing into Eric’s back and peppering it with kisses. 

“C’mon, you,” Eric laughed, opening the front door and ushering Harry out. 

** 

The minute Eric had finished feeding the dogs Harry was on him. He let Eric press him up against the kitchen counter and licked into his mouth, thinking ‘so this is how he tastes,’ and ‘this is how he kisses,’ and ‘this is how he breathes when he’s turned on.’ 

Both of them were turned on, there was no hiding that. Every so often Eric’s hip would brush against Harry’s erection and it’d cause Harry to gasp into Eric’s mouth embarrassingly. Harry was petrified to touch Eric’s own dick - he knew it was big, and when Eric had needed to pull away from Harry to let the dogs outside Harry had seen it, big and thick and long and pressing against grey joggers and Harry had nearly fainted. How was he supposed to take all that?! 

They moved to the living room and Harry climbed into Eric’s lap and made out with him pressed into the cushions, trying furiously to ignore the enormous problem lying between them. Eric gripped Harry’s hips and occasionally rolled up against him, and Harry’s blood was pumping hotly through his body, he could feel his pulse in his knees, he was sure he was flushed all the way down his chest and his hair was probably a bit crazy and he was visibly tenting his trousers and he was into this and into boys but he had no clue what to do with another penis and it was all too much and - 

“I don’t think I can take it,” Harry gasped suddenly, pulling away and blinking at a confused Eric. “I’m sorry, I feel - I don’t think I’ll be able - “ 

“Take what? What are you talking about?” 

“You,” Harry breathed, his chest heaving. Eric’s eyes were dark, his pupils so blown, and his mouth was wet and shiny and Harry was going to come in his pants again if he wasn’t careful. 

“What about me?” 

“You’re so big,” Harry said throatily, motioning between them. “I don’t know how it works but I don’t know if I can - “ 

Eric let his head roll back against the edge of the sofa and he licked at his lips, eyebrows shooting up and then coming back down into a frown. He sighed and sat back up again, his fingers spidering up Harry’s ribs absently. 

“I mean - it’s big, yeah, but I’d - I’d prep you,” he said carefully, his eyes studying Harry’s face. 

“Prep... like with your...” 

“I’d finger you, maybe eat you out a little bit.” 

Harry swallowed hard, focussing on Eric’s mouth rather than the burning hot look in his eye. Eric’s fingers were huge too, thick and long and Harry was going to be ripped apart, he wouldn’t be able to play for weeks or months, he’d maybe even lose his legs all together if Eric accidentally put a disk out of his spine - 

“Winksy. Stop worrying,” Eric said, meeting his eyes again. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We can wait until you’re ready.” 

Harry nodded, his hands resting either side of Eric’s neck. He leaned in and they were kissing again, Harry’s mind swimming with thoughts of - finger you, eat you out - and so he broke away again, another question on his lips, but Eric was kissing at his neck and when Harry spoke it came out breathless and moany and entirely not as concerned as he intended it to. 

“Doesn’t it hurt?” 

Eric hummed against Harry’s throat. “What?” 

“Getting fucked,” Harry said. “By a man.” 

“Feels so good,” Eric said, teeth grazing Harry’s pulse point. “You never fingered yourself?” 

“No, never.” Harry could feel Eric smiling against his skin and it made him smile too. 

“Jesus, never? Harry!” 

“Is that a common thing to do?” 

“Do you want to talk or do you want to kiss me?” 

So they kissed until Eric’s stomach was grumbling loud enough to kill the mood, and then they moved to the kitchen where the ratio of cooking - kissing was uneven enough that Eric’s chicken took two times longer to make than usual. 

After they’d eaten and put away the dishes, they went upstairs and Harry laid back against the pillows whilst Eric kissed him, hand snaking under his top and stroking at his stomach. Harry was whimpery and languid, wriggling under Eric’s steady frame, legs opening and closing at random like he couldn’t get comfortable, like there was an itch he couldn’t scratch. 

They went to sleep that night in Eric’s bed, both with pretty blue balls, but peaceful and satisfied with their situation nonetheless. 

** 

Harry woke up with a big pair of arms wrapped around him and the unmistakeable feeling of Eric’s erection pressed between his cheeks. Harry pushed against it experimentally, imagining how it’d feel inside his body, hard and persistent and taking. It didn’t take much time for Harry to get hard himself, moving back against Eric and forward against nothing. 

After a few moments the arms around Harry’s chest tightened and Eric moved his palm down Harry’s abs, his breathing no longer slow and sleepy but awake, alert. Eric’s fingers stopped at the band of Harry’s boxers. 

“Can I?” He whispered in Harry’s ear, his voice gravelly with sleep. 

Harry couldn’t form words. He nodded eagerly, suddenly and spectacularly desperate to have a hand on his dick. Eric pressed a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck and let his finger tips breach the waistband, sliding down through the springy black hair of Harry’s pubes and then wrapping around his dick. 

Harry’s breath stuttered on contact. Eric was feeling it out, the girth and the length, the feel of the foreskin and the drop of Harry’s balls. They’d seen each other’s dicks plenty of times when they were in the showers and sharing hotels and what not but this was entirely different. Suddenly Eric pulled his hand out and Harry was about to whine when Eric held it in front of his face and commanded “Spit on it.” 

Harry only hesitated for a second before he was gathering saliva and spitting it at Eric’s palm, his heart beating dangerously fast. Eric’s hand came back into his shorts and he was wanking Harry off, slowly and expertly and so well Harry didn’t think he’d last very long. Behind him was Eric’s firm erection and in front of him was his warm calloused hand. Harry let out a little moan and reached his arm back to grip the back of Eric’s neck. It was frustrating having no control over the pace, frustrating not to be able to kiss Eric, frustrating knowing his big dick was probably throbbing with need and Harry didn’t really know what to do with it. 

“Gonna come for me, baby?” Eric rasped in Harry’s ear. It was the first time he’d used the name since they’d acknowledged the situation between them, and it made Harry feel light headed. “Gonna make a mess of my bedsheets?” 

Harry moaned again, louder. He could feel the heat rising in his belly, his muscles beginning to tighten, his brain repeating Eric’s name on a loop. Eric started pumping his hips against Harry in time with his strokes and it was all too much - Harry was coming hotly up his stomach, over the mattress, over Eric’s fist. Eric kept on tugging at it until Harry was pushing him away, over sensitive and momentarily exhausted. 

He collapsed his face into the pillows but Eric was lifting him, turning him over and pulling him close and kissing his mouth and his jaw and his neck and his temple and Harry knew he was never going to have another relationship like this again, not in his life. He was calming Harry, soothing him, and he didn’t expect anything and it made Harry’s heart burst. He leaned back on his heels and looked Eric’s body over, biting down on his bottom lip. 

“You don’t have to - “ 

“Can I just... see it? Touch it, maybe. Get acquainted?” 

Eric laughed and bent one of his knees, putting a hand behind his head and settling back comfortably. “Sure.” 

Harry steeled himself and began by slowly letting the back of one finger trail up the length of Eric’s cock in his pants. It felt warm and solid, somewhat the way Harry’s own dick felt when he touched it through cotton. He licked at his lips and edged a bit closer, taking a deep breath and pulling down Eric’s boxers. Harry was mesmerised as Eric’s dick bobbed free, heavy and flushed and leaking a little bit. It was gorgeous and Harry couldn’t take his eyes off it. 

“You okay?” 

Harry looked up at Eric’s face. He was watching him with a bemused expression, the curve of his bicep next to his face torturously biteable. 

“I wish you could see your face right now,” Eric laughed, and Harry’s lips quirked at the side for a moment before he was dragging his gaze away from Eric’s eyes and back to his penis. 

Eventually he had to bite the bullet, so Harry gathered his courage and picked Eric’s dick up. He tested the weight of it, tested how it felt with his fingers wrapped around it. He moved his hand up and down the shaft a couple of times experimentally and looked over at Eric, who was watching him with dark eyes. 

“How does it feel?” Harry asked, voice weaker than he wanted it to be. 

“Feels good, Winksy.” 

Harry beamed and played around with it for a while longer, tracing the big vein and squeezing at the base and watching Eric’s slit protrude from his foreskin when he squeezed at it just so. Harry brought his hand to his mouth and spat on it, same way he’d done with Eric’s, and began getting him off steadily. It felt weird but it also felt nice, it felt good knowing he was making Eric feel good. 

“You make me so happy, baby,” Eric breathed. “You’re so fuckin perfect, Harry.” 

Harry could feel himself blushing and he turned his head slightly in an attempt to hide the smile taking over his look of concentration. He continued to work at it, awed that he was actually going to make another man come. Not just any other man - he was actually going to make Eric come. 

Eric was breathy and kept saying ‘shit’ and ‘Harry’ and ‘baby’ under his breath and Harry’s own dick was trying pathetically to get hard again, the sight of this too much. He was all smooth skin and hair and abs and beard and Harry was pretty sure he was in love with him. He was in love with Eric. 

As he came to this realisation, eyes focussed on Eric’s own, Eric started coming. Harry looked back down quickly so he didn’t miss it and watched in fascination as Eric streaked come up his own stomach, some of it dribbling down onto Harry’s fingers. Harry turned his hand over in fascination, looking at the translucent liquid dripping over his knuckles like he’d never seen come before. Eric’s sperm, his babies, his DNA was sliding around on Harry’s fingers. It was mind blowing. 

“C’mere you,” Eric said, patting his chest and smiling dopily at Harry. 

Harry wiped his fingers on his own boxers - they were a wreck anyway - and clambered up Eric’s body, collapsing on his chest and kissing him deeply. Before long Eric was sitting up and putting space between them, glancing at his wrist watch and stretching out his calves. 

“Okay, so. We need to shower, and we need to talk. About this.” 

Harry knew Eric was right, so he followed him into the bathroom and perched on the toilet seat whilst Eric showered. They used the time to discuss their relationship - Harry apologised for his behaviour and Eric forgave him. Eric talked Harry through his paranoia about being too twinky (“you’re going to get called that whether you have sex with me or not, Harry. You might as well enjoy yourself”) and then Harry said fuck it and took off his dirty underwear and got in the shower too, making out under the spray and realising with glee that it didn’t matter if he got hard. It wasn’t anything he had to hide anymore. 

They got dressed, ate breakfast. Harry hadn’t heard from Hugo and he planned to use the day making things up to the party guests as much as he could. Eric drove him home and kissed him across the middle of the car and Harry walked up his driveway feeling happier than he ever had in his entire life. 

— 

Harry’s world became a little bubble of football, family and Eric. 

He’d get up and go to work, complete drills and work out and eat properly and win some games, lose some games, but at the end of most days he went home with Eric and they kissed and laughed and cuddled and gave each other hand jobs and whispered how much they liked each other underneath the bed sheets. 

It was glaringly obvious that their relationship had changed, but no one treated them any different. Harry still climbed all over Eric when he was feeling needy and tired and everyone knew not to stare when Eric lifted Harry up and started mouthing things against his neck. Once the boys had gotten over Harry’s show at dinner (Lloris accepted Harry’s gift of an Hermès throw and luggage set but made sure Harry knew he’d never be invited to his home again) things moved on as if none of the events of the last few weeks had even happened. 

When they told Dele they were together he’d rolled his eyes and scoffed “fucking finally, maybe Eric won’t have blue balls all the time now,” and it’d only been a little bit awkward because only Harry and Eric knew they hadn’t actually had sex yet. 

Things were heating up between them, though. Harry dropped to his knees one night and earnestly took Eric in his mouth and Eric had to stop him, had to push him back and take a moment and compose himself. “I’m going to come and I want to enjoy this,” he’d said, and Harry waited on his knees until Eric was ready. Eric took a photo, told Harry he wanted him to see what this looked like, and although Harry was uneasy about a photo of him with a cock in his mouth existing he allowed it, just out of interest. 

Later after Eric had come all over Harry’s face and chest and he’d been cleaned up, Eric showed Harry the photo in bed and it took his breath away. His lips were stretched around Eric obscenely; red and wet. His skin was flushed pink, cheeks filled with cock. It was his eyes, though, that really jumped out - they were huge and clear and so eager, so full of love, looking up past the camera at Eric in a way that made Harry’s stomach twist. He looked beautiful, looked like he was made to do it. He was overwhelmed. 

He squashed his face against Eric’s chest and murmured that he wanted to be fucked so bad, and Eric wrapped his arms around him and said into his hair that he was ready when Harry was, all he had to do was say the words. 

The words came after a particularly red hot game. 

Eric didn’t score but he assisted Dele in a spectacular way. Harry was on the bench and the fans were screaming Eric’s name and Harry felt like he’d been super charged with electricity somehow, his entire body fizzing with love and a need to have Eric close. All these people loved him and wanted him and Harry wanted to run on the pitch and smother him, climb him and rest his head over Eric’s heart and glare at anyone who came near. 

When the final whistle blew Harry was already half hard imagining what they were going to do tonight. Eric came down the tunnel shaking hands and hugging and being lairy with Dele as people shoved cameras in their faces. Harry watched quietly in the background, arms folded and a quiet heat moving around his body. After a while he saw Eric’s head crane around the room, searching, wondering why Harry hadn’t come to him yet. When his eyes settled on Harry’s his eyebrows shot up, almost as if he could read Harry’s mind, could see what he wanted from the look on his face. 

They could’ve stood there like that for hours, probably, having a silent conversation over the tops of every head in the locker room. But eventually Eric was being ushered away to to press and social media and all those other things, Dele at his side as they played up to their infamous bromance for the cameras. 

Harry carefully packed his things away and zipped up his coat, laced up his trainers, waited quietly for Eric to finish up. Eric usually showered at home, but this time Harry wished he’d just do it now so as to not waste more time when they got back. He was thrumming with anticipation and excitement and when Eric finally stood up and zipped his jacket and said “Ready?” Harry nearly pulled a muscle jumping from the bench. 

They walked to the car in tense silence, Eric’s hand on the small of Harry’s back. They got into Eric’s car and let the radio fill the silence, Harry blinking out at the bright London lights with his collar pulled up over his mouth. 

When Eric pulled into the driveway he got out of his seat quickly and walked around the front of the car to Harry’s side, opening the door and crowding into his space. He smelled sweaty and dirty and Harry wanted to lick the salt off his neck. 

“Are you okay?” Eric asked, eyes searching Harry’s for a clue. 

Harry nodded and pulled him in for a kiss. “I wanna do it tonight. I want you to fuck me tonight.” 

Eric exhaled a breath into Harry’s mouth and lifted him from the car, closing the door in one fluid movement. “You sure?” 

Harry kissed him wetly, hoping Eric couldn’t feel the way his heart was thudding in his chest. Eric put Harry down so he could unlock the door. They went into the dark house and Harry unzipped Eric’s jacket, nosing at his dirty skin and sticking his tongue out to taste it, the evidence of his hard work on the pitch that was now all Harry’s to consume. They made their way up the stairs and into the bathroom. Eric showered and Harry brushed his teeth and retreated to the bedroom to wait, smoothing out the bedsheets nervously and crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

The longer Eric spent in the other room the more nervous Harry became, worrying once again about how this would feel, whether he’d enjoy it, whether he’d make it shit for Eric because he didn’t know what he was doing. He started thinking about the people Eric had or hadn’t sex with and he could feel himself working up into a panic, feeling dizzy and spooked and maybe he wasn’t ready yet, maybe it was too soon - 

But then Eric was padding into the room. He was naked, scrubbing a towel against the short hair on his head, water droplets peppered over his shoulder blades. His dick was half hard already, hanging heavily between his thighs, and Harry felt most of his fears dissipate. He stood up and walked to Eric in two quick strides, gripping at him and breathing into his clavicle. Eric tilted Harry’s head back and kissed at him slowly, sexily, mouth strong and steady. 

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed,” Eric said, tossing his towel in the basket. “Lie on your belly. I want to eat you out.” 

A spark of electricity flew up Harry’s spine. He pulled his shirt over his head with fumbling fingers, kicked off his joggers and his underwear and his socks. Eric was putting cream on his face at the other side of the room, moving slowly like he was in no rush. Harry’s hands were shaking. 

He lay face down on the bed like he’d been instructed, his fingers knotting in the sheets as he waited. When the bed dipped Harry whimpered a bit. Eric brought his finger tips down Harry’s spine, letting them trail over the curve of his ass. He grabbed it in his two hands and squeezed and Harry was breathless, utterly mortified that his teammate was so close to his most intimate body part, but seriously turned on that the person he liked most in the entire world was giving him so much attention and care. 

“You look so hot right now, baby,” Eric said, fingers hooking around Harry’s waist and pulling him up so that his ass was in the air. “Oh my god, you’re so fucking beautiful. I’m obsessed with you.” 

Harry turned his face to the side so he could see a little bit of Eric’s body, the curve of his knee, the ball of his foot. 

“I’ve wanted to do this to you since I met you. Did you know that? I bet you didn’t, you’re always so wrapped up in your own little world.” Eric spread Harry’s cheeks apart and blew air down the crease, and Harry’s hips snapped forward. “I’ve dreamed about eating you out till you can’t remember what day it is.” 

Harry was pretty sure he couldn’t remember what day it was already and Eric hadn’t even put his mouth on him yet. 

“Wanted to know how noisy you’d get, how needy. You’re so fuckin needy, Winksy, you’re a full time job.” 

Harry groaned, exposed and hard and desperate. Eric wasn’t doing anything, and Harry was getting frustrated, the pink in his cheeks worsening as he considered that Eric Dier was just sat there with Harry’s arse cheeks in his hands staring at his arsehole. Harry needed something, anything, anything at all. 

And then, suddenly and spectacularly, Eric brought his face in and licked a big stripe from ball to tailbone. Harry moaned loudly, his body twitching in Eric’s hands. Eric kept up a steady rhythm, wet and firm. Harry’s eyes fluttered closed and his mouth fell open and he moaned through the sensations, his cheek smushed against the bedsheets in a way that would probably leave a crease mark. He felt blissful and surrounded, utterly the centre of the universe - there was no one else in the world who felt how Harry did right now, he was sure of it. There was no one else in the world with Eric Dier this close to them. Harry wanted to purr. Then Eric started fucking his tongue in and out of the muscle of Harry’s hole and Harry was gone, whining freely and greedily pressing back against Eric’s face. 

“Gonna finger you, okay?” Eric said, but it sounded like it was underwater and Harry couldn’t form the words to respond. “Harry? Baby? Are you with me?” 

Harry nodded his head as well as he could and let his knees spread open a little bit more, hoping that was enough of an invitation. He wanted it, he was ready. He needed Eric to just do it. 

“Tell me,” Eric said, biting down on the flesh of Harry’s bum. “Say it.” 

“Want you to finger me,” Harry gasped, his eyes opening again. “Want you.” 

Harry could hear the sound of a bottle opening and he knew it must be lube. He had no idea where it’d come from and he hoped it wouldn’t be cold. Eric pressed the pad of his finger to Harry’s hole and then gently pushed. Harry held his breath as he took the finger, trying to relax his muscles as well as he could. It felt bizarre but it wasn’t necessarily bad - just alien, foreign. It didn’t really feel like anything, just like... doing a reverse poo, almost. 

Eric was moving the finger around like he was searching, repeating assurances - that Harry was a good boy, Eric’s good boy, the best baby - and then his finger brushed against something and Harry yelped. Pleasure enveloped him as Eric rubbed against it, sucking bruises into Harry’s hip and sliding the pad of his finger over the bundle of nerves repetitively. He inserted a second finger and Harry felt like he was floating - it was so filling, so overwhelming, so deliciously good and sexy. And then Eric was pulling his fingers out and moving away, off the bed, away from Harry. 

“Roll over, Harry. Let me see how turned on you are,” Eric said. 

Harry rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. His chest was all pink and blotchy, his nipples hard and his chest heaving. His dick was curved up against his hip. Harry took in the sight of Eric - rock hard and stroking his own cock, his eyes impossibly dark and his brow set low, his mouth shiny and slick. Harry wanted him so badly. 

“Please,” was all he could say, needy and desperate. 

Eric picked up a condom from where he’d left it on the end of the bed and opened it with his teeth, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. He rolled it on expertly and then he crawled up the bed, resting between Harry’s thighs and kissing him slowly. Harry kissed him breathlessly, hands clinging to his broad shoulders for dear life. 

“Gonna fuck you so good,” Eric said, biting down on Harry’s earlobe. “Gonna show you who you belong to.” 

“I love you,” Harry whispered suddenly, unable to keep the sentiment inside his chest. 

Eric froze and pulled back far enough to look Harry in the eye. “What?” 

“I love you,” Harry said quietly, blinking at the confused look on Eric’s face. “I’m sorry. I just - I had to say it - “ 

“I love you too,” Eric replied, kissing Harry on the nose. “I love you so much.” 

They kissed a little while longer, and then Eric lined up and began pushing it in. He rested his forehead on Harry’s and they breathed into each other’s mouths as it slid in, past the initial resistance and then nestling deep in Harry’s body. Eric fit inside him snugly, perfectly - Harry didn’t know why he’d ever been scared of this. Of course they were meant for each other. When Eric started moving after Harry had a while to adjust, both of them knew it wasn’t going to last long, but it didn’t matter - they had forever to do this. 

“You gonna come for me, Harry?” Eric said, and Harry nodded, bringing his hand between their bodies and getting himself off in time with Eric’s thrusts. “You feel so good, baby. You’re so fucking tight, so fucking - I knew you’d feel this good,” Eric was babbling, his biceps straining with his weight. “You’re taking it so well, Harry, you’re such a fuckin trooper, so fuckin good for me.” 

“I love you,” was all Harry could say, his orgasm building. “I love you so bad.” 

“Come for me,” Eric said, his hips snapping relentlessly inside Harry. “Come for me, baby.” 

Harry had never come so hard in his life. He barely even registered Eric talking him through it, kissing him and praising him and then coming himself, fucking into Harry so hard that Harry wondered how dainty little women took it when they were under Eric. 

They lay there for a while, kissing occasionally. Harry had never felt more alive, more in love, more content. It was the feeling he got when he scored goals, only magnified. 

“That was incredible,” he said eventually, turning onto his side and gazing up and down Eric’s body appreciatively. “You’re incredible.” 

“You were born for that, Harry. Born to play football and take dick.” 

For the first time, Harry wasn’t offended by the notion that taking cock was something he was destined for. He beamed at Eric proudly. 

“You know what? I think you’re right.” 

“You’re my baby, Harry Winks.” 

Harry grinned and kissed Eric on the lips. “I am. I am so, totally baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ty for all the love on this one. Don’t forget to leave a lil love heart down there because I’m baby and I want one xxxx


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